


Chords and Melodies

by methuselahsattemptatlife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Guitar, M/M, music teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methuselahsattemptatlife/pseuds/methuselahsattemptatlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a struggling student taken in and apprenticing under Dean Winchester, a music teacher from his college.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel Novak was asleep coddling a guitar. Again. He had been out late last night, drinking, and gotten back to the house early. It was practically high noon and he was snoozing still, deep in dreamland. The thick black leather couch was covered in mismatched blankets and dirty clothes. A duffel bag or two was slung up against the wall. All around him were posters of famous bands and broken amps and cases for all the guitars stacked in the studio – mounted on the wall, or chillaxing on stands, all the guitars were polished and well looked after. After all, the owner of the house was a music lover. Capos and picks and polish littered the tables.

Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, pausing halfway. They took in the figure on the couch with reproach. Continuing their decent, they lifted a pen from a music stand and tossed it onto the sleeping figure. Jumping out of his skin Castiel gripped the electric guitar protectively and snapped out of his dreams. “I told you to practice, not sleep,” Dean scolded.

“Would it help if I said I was dreaming about you?” Cas offered sleepily, yawning.

"No," Dean shot back, swiftly taking his coffee and going into the soundproof room in the back. The confidence in his stride was arrogance but he smelled like a fresh shower and a shave. Nice combo.

 

Sighing, Cas rolled over and sat up, rubbing his face as he balanced the electric guitar against his knee. It had been weeks of this banter. After being kicked out of his house last month, Cas had been forced to ask lodgings of his guitar teacher, a man teaching music at the local college; Dean Winchester. Cas himself was going to classes too, but not many and not nearly often enough.

 

He was in a rut. His life had taken a back-slide after his last ex ditched him and took most of his stuff; including his car. He’d lost everything - even his family, when he’d told them why he’d lost all his things. Because he’d been dating a guy. A rough guy into some bad stuff. A rough guy who had smashed his heart into pieces.

 

But Dean was the only one who cared. He was there with open arms, and an open couch, when Cas had come to his doorstep in the middle of the night. An angry, emotional mess. He didn’t care that he was gay or that he was destitute. He’d made him dinner and set him up straightened him out in the time he’d been allowed to stay here. His kindness had done wonders for the young prodigy. Finally, someone was helping him heal from the wounds he’d inflicted on himself.

 

That was something Cas wanted to repay. He had no way to repay him, of course, jobless and having to pay for classes and lessons. But he had another idea. One Dean seemed keen on reflecting away from him.

 

Rising from the couch, Cas followed Dean into the soundproof room and sat on one of the stools, plugging up the guitar as his teacher tuned an acoustic in the corner by the table. His blue eyes softened as he watched Dean’s agile fingers turn each end until the strings sang in perfect melody. It made his heart ache to see such love for music. Looking down at his own guitar, he pulled a pick from his pocket and began to work out a small beginning chord. Truth was, he had a crush on Dean. A major one. They were only a few years apart and Dean had his entire life together. Job, damn nice car, a house, a community… He was accommodating and gruff and rough around the edges but he was full of kindness. It was like seeing a ball of light in a rose bush. Get through the thorns and you get to the most fantastic part of a person.

 

Truth was, the song he was playing was about Dean. He’d written a melody a few days ago trying to get his emotions onto paper. The pen had jumped and scribbled in his hand until it was done. Until it was perfect. Well, not perfect; it needed tweaking. But he was sure he’d captured everything in the rough draft.

 

Fingers working over the strings, Cas drew a sweet, sad melody out of the air and sent it reverberating across the room from the hissing amplifier. He plucked each string and slid his fingers along the frets and poured his heart into getting everything just perfect. The draw of the pauses, the silence in between choruses, the buzz of the notes. Everything was drawn out exactly right. He finished it off shortly and realized he’d had his eyes shut. Blinking, he looked at his guitar, which was balanced precariously in his lap. He needed a strap for it. Maybe Iron Man. Then he could name the guitar Toni.

Lifting his eyes to see if Dean had anything to say, he was taken aback by the look in his eyes. His heart jumped into his throat and his face flushed with heat. Dean’s full attention was trained on him. Those sharp, edgy green eyes were drinking him in with guarded sincerity, the level of affection in the part of his lips made Cas’s pulse race. The love there was everything Cas had wished for and way more. He broke his stare as if realizing he was being silent and cleared his throat.

 

"That’s damn good, kid," he offered.

 

Cas cradled his guitar and stared at him, nodding gently. “I’ve been… working on it for someone.” His words seemed foreign on his tongue, as if someone else was making him confess. The sting of anxiety in his roiling belly spread to his chest and throat. He tried to swallow it away as Dean shifted in his chair but it was useless.

 

Looking him over, Dean appeared to be debating something internally. He clenched his jaw. His Adams apple bobbed. Cas held his breath. It was like a storm inside him. Then, finally, Dean nodded in return, meeting his eyes with a guarded acceptance. “Well it needs some work. But it’s a damn good start.”


	2. Chapter 2

Cas didn’t want to push his luck. It was enough that Dean paid attention to him, and let him stay, and was his ‘roommate.’ He was more like a guest in Dean’s house. But he was crushing on the man, hard. He found himself watching him cook, and drink, and letting his eyes wander along the curves of his form. His soft waist and the bow of his legs. Cas was noticing things he hadn’t before. Smells of a shower starting; the cologne of afterwards; signs of an empty beer. Dean’s lips drawing hopefully at the glass lip.  It was nuts. He was nuts. He was losing his mind following Dean’s footsteps around the house with his ears. Something had to change.

It had been a few weeks longer, and Cas had finished the song. He only practiced when Dean was out teaching though – he wanted it to be a surprise. Of course, he had helped tweak it, and offered ideas, but it was an entire piece that Dean had never heard. Cas was determined to get it perfect. He wanted to see that look on his face again. To prove it to Dean - as well as himself - that Dean felt the same way about him.

He was singing the few snatches of lyrics he could think of under his breath as he did his laundry and cleaned the basement. It was part of the agreement; keep it clean, it’s yours. The last thing Cas wanted to do was make things between them rocky because he wouldn’t one rule. He teased Dean, and sometimes left it a mess on purpose to tease him, but he also wanted to make it clear that he wanted to stay.

 _“I am beating in your chest,”_ Cas sang gently, in his deep, gravelly tone. _“I am aching with the rhythms. I have lost my grip, on everything I knew.”_

Dean never did anything personal. He never went out with his buddies, or visited family. He went out, driving for hours, stopping nowhere. Or he went fishing. But he spoke to barely anyone else. Once he’d mentioned that he lost his younger brother in a car wreck and Cas had a feeling it did something to Dean then. There were pictures of him with his ’67 before that, laughing with a few guys. There were pictures of him and a beautiful girl, and a young kid that looked like her son. There were pictures of him and his dad, him and his brother, but only one of his mom from a long time ago. But after his brother died, there were no more recent pictures. None. It looked like Dean had bought this place right after and applied to teach and sat on the porch with a beer every night since.

Cas remembered that when he sang the song. He felt every spike of guilt and loneliness like it was his own heart under all that pressure when he picked those electric guitar strings. Like his heart own was being smashed, over and over, with every happy memory fading behind his closed eyes. Like all the things tying him to the rest of the world were severed in a fire that managed to only burn one side forever. Like every morning was a new weight on his shoulders _. “We left there and wrecked each other and never looked back,”_ he sang, his voice clear and rich, _“I left everything in the worn soles of our shoes. I am beating in your chest, I am aching with the rhythms; and I know you feel exactly as I do.”_ He tricked out a hammer-on from the strings and his fingers flew along the frets. _“Beat out the stars, beating them out; twisting me into knots and watching yourself in the mirror fading. But I could never leave – we are never gone. I’m in every step and every chance you take. I am with you. I am with you,”_ Castiel sang. _“I am with you.”_ He strummed down once more and let it echo off, fading into the silence of the room.

Cas’s heart was pounding. He had nailed it. A great storm of triumph brewed in his belly and rose in his throat, pushing a beaming happiness into his eyes and between grinning teeth _. I can’t wait to show it to Dean,_ he thought breathlessly as he unplugged his guitar. Perfect, it was perfect. Motion caught his eye, and he looked up in alarm. His lips parted in shock, eyebrows creeping up.


	3. Chapter 3

The motion had been Dean sinking into a chair across the room, having crept in to listen to him play and gotten a shock at what he’d heard. He held his unopened beer in one hand and the other was on one of his knocked-open knees. His handsome face was raw with a sort of clash of sadness and surprise. The green of his eyes were melting into honey whiskey hazel, the disarray of his unbuttoned dress shirt showing he had just gotten home, and he was almost speechless. Almost. “Wh… Who did you say that was for, again?” He managed, swallowing.

Cas immediately put down his guitar gently in one of the stands; slowly, as to not spook Dean. Then he had nothing to do with his hands. He pressed them to his waist absently, studying his host. Before he spoke he gathered his bravado and crossed the room. His bare feet padded along the cold hardwood. His gray skinny jeans tugged at him as he drew one leg in front of the other. His stormy ocean eyes were full of Dean’s sadness and he did not break his gaze. “Someone I really like,” he confessed. He paused right in front of Dean and watched him swallow. “I wanted to remind him that, no matter what happened to him,” Cas continued gently, “he’ll never be alone. Even if the people he loved before aren’t out here.” Dean put his beer on the table as Cas shifted to sit on his lap, belly to belly, nose to nose with him. His chest heaved under Cas’s touch as the young guitarist pressed his warm hand over Dean’s swiftly beating heart. “They will always be there.”

A pause of hesitation on the weakening floodgates of Dean’s heart was crumbled by Cas’s loving eyes. He put his strong arms around Castiel and hugged him, crushingly tight. The touch of another warm body was a hunger he couldn’t ignore anymore. A chord had been struck in his heart. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and pressed the tear-glistened eyes into his shoulder, and they sat that way for what seemed like forever. Castiel waited patiently for Dean to let a few tears squeeze out and slip down to soak his shirt. The silent emotion radiating off him was like rolling thunder. Its sheer magnitude pushed a stake through Cas’s heart. But he finally, finally had someone to let it coax out of him, so it would stop ripping him apart. It was everything. It was Dean’s heart breaking, and having been broken over and over until he couldn’t take it anymore. Until he had to drink to get rid of all the memories. Every night drowning his sorrows because there was nothing else to do with them. He couldn’t bring himself to let go or let himself heal. That would be like letting them go forever. He still couldn’t. But letting his grief take shape and shoving it out of his body would do wonders for both of them.

When Dean’s grip loosened he drew back, and looked up into Cas’s face with salty tear tracks on his cheeks and eyes bright with affection. The dark haired male didn’t hesitate. He pushed the tears from Dean’s cheeks and with every new touch blossomed a new need for more. Dean begged for it - he hadn’t been touched in so long. Cas gave in, and slid his fingers through Dean’s hair and pulled his head closer, hovering a breath from his lips and looking into his eyes like he was asking a question. _Are we, are you, is this…?_ When he felt hands go up his flimsy v-neck tee, it surprised him so much so, that the kiss came warm and sweet and unexpected. He melted as Dean’s hot palms mapped out his body like exploring a blind man’s porn. The taste of salty tears mixed with the buzz of the energy drinks Cas worshipped. The merge of their bodies felt finalized; like everything else had already bonded them, and the last thing separating them had dissolved at last. Castiel slid his hand over Dean’s soft abs and the buzz of finally touching this man he’d been lusting after send a shock of horny through him. He shifted his hips instinctively to push his crotch against Dean’s, and got a grunt of pleasure in return. Every time he did it again he felt a pair of hard-ons growing stiffer, separated only by cloth rubbing against each other. And all he could feel were Dean’s hands on his body, and Dean’s lips on his lips, and he had never felt happier in his life.


End file.
